FATAL FORTY-EIGHT: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mysteries Book 7) (13 page)

Skip stood and jerked his head toward the door. He headed out of the conference room, Rose, Kate and Mac trailing behind.

Silently, he waved his hand in a follow-me gesture.

“I caught the gist of that,” Rob’s voice said. Kate jumped a little. She’d forgotten she was still holding her cell phone to her ear.

“What now?” he asked.

“Hang on,” she said in a low voice, then wondered why she was whispering. Something about Skip’s body language said he wasn’t leading everyone outside just to send them home.

Halfway across the parking lot, he stopped. The other three gathered around him. Kate hit the button on the side of her phone to put it on speaker, then held it out in the center of their tight circle.

“This is bullshit!” Rose said.

“Yeah, fatal bullshit,” Mac said.

Even in the dim light from the street lamps on the perimeter of the lot, Kate could see the tension in her husband’s jaw.

“Not if we can help it,” Skip said. “How far you think it is to White Plains?”

“Hang on.” Rose whipped out her smart phone and started poking at it.

“What’s going on?” Rob’s voice boomed across the lot.

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Kate said. “We’re in the police station’s parking lot. I think Skip’s hatching a plan.”

Rose looked up from her own phone. “If we took a train, it’d be nine tomorrow morning by the time we got to White Plains. Driving, it’s three and a half hours. In the middle of the night, maybe a little less.”

“Driving.” Skip pointed a finger at Kate. “You get some rest.”

She opened her mouth.

“I’m going.” Rob’s voice from the phone.

“Why?” she blurted out, even though she’d been about to say the same thing.

“I can be your lookout, Skip,” Rob said. “So all three of you can be inside searching.”

“Okay,” Skip said. “We’ll pick you up in ten minutes.” He turned to Kate. “Darlin’, there’s no time to argue about this. You get to the station bright and early tomorrow and keep them distracted. I don’t want the Feds or Judith catchin’ on to where we’ve gone.”

Somewhat mollified that he’d lumped Julie Wallace in as a Fed, Kate nodded. “Be careful.”

“Always,” Skip replied.

11:00 p.m. Saturday

Kate had trouble keeping her eyes open as she drove home. Once there, she found Maria sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea.

The little woman stood up and walked to the stove. She turned on the burner under the kettle as she lifted a box in the air with her other hand. “Chamomile.”

Kate nodded and slumped into a chair at the table.

“What happening?” Maria asked.

Peaches, the cat, stalked into the room. The puppy bounced in after her. Peaches turned and hissed, a long front paw striking out, claws extended toward the pup’s tender nose. Toby jumped back, looking distinctly confused.

Kate managed a small smile.

“You two!” Maria stooped down and snatched up the dog. She marched out of the room.

Kate could’ve sworn the cat gave her a triumphant look. Then she plopped down in the middle of the kitchen floor and started licking her butt.

Kate let out a soft snort.

Maria came back just as the kettle whistled. She poured Kate’s tea and brought the mug to the table.

Kate wrapped her fingers around the soothing warmth. She took small sips as she gave Maria a brief summary of the day’s events. “If anybody calls for Skip,” she said, “between now and eight tomorrow morning, tell them he’s asleep and you’ll have him call them back.”

Maria nodded once sharply. “You go bed now.”

Kate gave her no argument. She shuffled off to the master bedroom. Kicking off her shoes, she pulled the comforter down and crawled into bed without bothering to get undressed.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

1:00 a.m. Sunday

Kate could hardly catch her breath. She was in a small room, the walls grayish-white in the dim light. She had been there for hours, maybe days–she couldn’t remember. And she was running out of air. Adrenaline shot through her system.

She tried to move but something was wrapped around her legs. Her body shook with terror, overwhelming terror.

Suddenly the room was larger, and furnished, although sparsely. A utilitarian couch and matching armchair in neutral beige. A cheap, navy rug on the floor, the kind you can get at a discount store for thirty or forty dollars. The furnishings nagged at her memory. Where had she seen them before?

Her fear had dissipated. A strange calm enveloped her. She looked around the room. Why hadn’t she noticed that window before?

It was covered by dull brown curtains. And behind them, a white blind was pulled down from a roller at the top, like the blinds in her grandmother’s house when she was a kid.

Suddenly she was next to the window, trying to get the blind to go up. It wouldn’t budge. It was attached somehow to the window frame.

Hoping for some fresh air, she pressed her face against the edge of the frame, where there should be a gap between blind and frame. But the window was sealed tight.

Perhaps if she screamed, someone outside would hear her? She opened her mouth to suck in air to scream. But there was no air.

A vise tightened around her chest, squeezing her lungs. Little explosions of color behind her eyelids. Feeling oddly detached, she realized she was suffocating.

She jolted upright in the dark room, gasping. The vise eased. It registered that the room had changed yet again. Dressers and a chair slowly emerged as familiar dark lumps against the grayer darkness. Her bedroom.

“Dear God,” she whispered, her hand clutching her chest, as she willed her heart to stop trying to escape its confines. She’d been dreaming.

But it had been so vivid.

She shook her head, hard, then glanced at the bedside clock, its bright numbers the only source of light in the room. 1:10.

Crap!

She’d been asleep for less than two hours. She patted her shirtfront over her still racing heart and tried to swing her legs out of the bed to go use the bathroom. The comforter was all twisted around her body. Apparently she’d been doing some tossing and turning before the dream woke her. It took a moment to find a corner she could tug loose from under her.

Once in the bathroom, she realized there would be no getting back to sleep. She showered and changed into fresh clothes. That made her feel marginally better.

Kate moved quietly out into the living room. The house was still, the only light from a nightlight Maria always left on in the kitchen. She should check on the children, before leaving for the police station again.

She crept quietly up the stairs, avoiding the one with a creaky floorboard, and peeked into each child’s room. Edie was cuddled up with her favorite doll, her dark curls framing her little face. Billy was sprawled across his bed, the covers half off.

Kate tiptoed in and straightened them around him. He moved his head from the left to the right, but didn’t wake. She shook her own head a little. Only in sleep did he look cherubic.

She tiptoed backward toward his door, maternal guilt stabbing at her heart. It felt like a week since she’d last seen her children awake.

It’s only been a little over a day.

As she came down the stairs, she heard a soft whine from the laundry room. She turned the corner to go check on the puppy, only to find Peaches curled up outside the laundry room door. The cat stood up, stretched, then arched her back and hissed in Kate’s general direction.

Kate stopped and stared. Her own cat was hissing at her?

The world has truly spun off its axis.

Peaches turned around once and then lay back down, her chin propped on one paw, watching Kate. It was almost like the cat was possessive of the dog now.

Kate shook her head. She’d have to psychoanalyze her pets later.

She dashed off a quick note to Maria, left it on the kitchen table, and headed back to the police station.

1:30 a.m. Sunday

At the station, she inquired about Lieutenant Anderson. “She’s here,” the female officer manning the front desk said. “But I think she’s resting in her office. Do you have something new? I can wake her.”

“No, don’t.” No need to disturb Judith, since restlessness rather than new ideas had brought Kate back here. “I’ll just go to the detectives’ conference room then.” Although she had no idea what she would do there.

The officer hit the button to unlock the door to the inner sanctum of the precinct. The buzzer echoed in the cavernous lobby that contained only two other people, a young woman who looked like she had partied too hardy–waiting for a ride perhaps–and an older, disheveled woman with two black plastic, garbage bags, stuffed full, at her feet. A homeless person maybe, hoping for a few hours relief from the chilly night air.

Kate headed for the detectives’ bullpen.

Outside the conference room, Tim was stretched out on a short, gray leatherette couch, his legs dangling over one arm. Despite the obviously uncomfortable position, he was snoring softly.

Kate tried to sneak past him. She was almost through the door when he opened one eye.

“You back here so soon?”

She kept moving. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Feet hit the floor with a thud. He came into the conference room after her. “Not much we can do right now. I have Jane digging for more info on the father.”

“Where’s SA Wallace?”

Tim shrugged. “For lack of anything better to do, she’s out patrolling the streets, hoping she’ll spot our guy sneaking around when most other folks are home in bed.” He arched an eyebrow at her, implying that home in bed was where she should be.

“I had a nightmare.” She wondered why she felt compelled to explain herself. “Knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep. But I’m sorry I woke you.”

“S’okay.” A yawn belied that message. Then he gave her a small grin. “It really is okay. I was only going to rest for a few minutes, until Jane called back.”

“Are there pictures we can go through?”

“Why? We already know who the guy is now.”

Kate sat down hard in one of the chairs around the table. “True. I’m not thinking straight. Maybe I should’ve tried to go back to sleep.”

Tim pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. He put his hand over hers on the table.

Her skin tingled under his warm touch. Her arm twitched, unwilling to obey her brain’s signal to pull the hand back.

Tim lifted her hand and wrapped both of his own around it, preventing its escape. “Kate, I’m sorry I misread the cues earlier. But I’d really like to be friends. This job is pretty lonely, especially when you don’t have a family to go home to.”

Her heart ached for him, at the same time that the more rational part of her brain was saying,
No, no, and no!

“Tim, I really like you.” She was trying desperately to ignore the sensations running up her arm. “You’re warm and smart and easy to be around.”

“I could say exactly the same about you. It feels like we’ve been working together for years.”

She nodded slightly, then wished she hadn’t, not wanting to encourage him. Although to deny what he’d said would be a lie. They did fit together–the way she did with Rob, the way she normally did with Skip.

She felt so cut off from Skip right now. The emotional roller coaster of the last thirty-some hours was not a unique experience for her. They’d been in tense situations before, had even had to literally run for their lives once. But they’d been together. This time, Skip was out in the field– with that Wallace woman–and she was here, with Tim.

She remembered that Skip wasn’t currently with Julie Wallace. He was on his way to White Plains, New York.

Best not to think about that now. I might give something away.

She looked up into Tim’s soft brown eyes, trying to find the right words to explain why friendship wouldn’t work. She chickened out. “Let’s get through this and then we’ll see.”

She hated herself for the lie. She doubted she could ever be friends with this man–the only one she’d been attracted to besides her husband for the last eight years. Being around him would be tempting fate.

The phone jangled on the table beside them.

Saved by the bell.

Tim let go of her hand and punched the button on the speaker. “SSA Cornelius.” He sounded annoyed.

“Hey, Tim.” Jane’s voice, exhausted. She didn’t seem to notice Tim’s tone. “I’ve sent you what I could find but it’s not all that much. This family led a quiet life, until their daughter was kidnapped.”

“Could you locate any other pictures of him?” Tim asked.

“Yeah. I’m sending it to your tablet. It’s from the local events page of the little town in upstate New York where the Delaneys lived. Just as small and grainy as the other newspaper pic, but it’s more recent. Goes with a story about his retirement, six months before his wife committed suicide.”

Kate’s shoulders drooped. She shook her head. “That explains why the abuse escalated. He was home all the time.”

Tim looked at his tablet, then turned it around toward Kate. It was indeed just as grainy as the older picture, but the man identified in the caption as Claude Delaney was the same one Charles had drawn.

A disgusted noise came from Tim’s throat. “His driver’s license. It was renewed last year, right in the middle of the time frame of the New Haven killings. He was trying to disguise himself in that picture, to throw us off if we caught on to him. But not change his appearance so much that a cop stopping him on the road couldn’t tell it was him.” He leaned toward the speaker. “Any luck tracing Delaney’s bank card history, Jane?”

“Yeah, some. He took five hundred dollars each out of five different ATM machines in White Plains three and a half weeks ago. Then there’s a credit card charge at a gas station in northern Pennsylvania the next day. Nothing since then.”

“Twenty-five hundred dollars in cash,” Kate said. “Traveling money so he doesn’t have to use credit cards.”

Tim blew out air. “And he probably won’t use them anywhere near where he’s holed up, even if he runs out of money.”